Chapter 3:
Now our science teacher Mister Shepperly knew as did Kyle and I the powers held within the Medallion.
I for one was living the result of its great power day unto day. As with all things we want of have it is the desire to attain them which holds the greatest personal joy. We find as did I that with gaining my Satyrdom form and way of life it has some obvious drawbacks. To say the least of these being the loss of all except a wild drive for sexual lust .
An occasional visit at night to Kyle's home and a conversation about what troubles my disappearance caused for my family was contantly on my mind. When first this transition form human to mythical creature occured I had only the vision of self and self pleasures. Now this has changed as I sit by my campfire in warm, in cold, and under a tree when it rains. Hot and dusty, warm and wet, cold and wet it is the way I live now as the animals do and without the courage to die.
Kyle told me of one brave heart, a woman we both knew and who thought the world of us. As of me up and disappearing without a trace she was paramount in keeping the search for me financed and on going. Tilly VanWeir a lady truer' the true as she kept Kyle reporting to her on a weekly basis.
I, of course stayed out of sight being that satyrs should not exsist in this day and time. Yet I be here and here I am a man and a goat blended into one strange fixation. My transformation making me remember what was and can be no more I have much time to think and dream.
Then one late night on a Saturday when the moon was full and the air cold. I sat by my campfire hearing the footsteps of Kyle approaching. He was not alone as with him came another, the other was not human making less sounds in walking but having still a scent stronger than that of Kyle.
"Good evening!" did I call out for Kyle and friend to approach.
Kyle made not his regular reply but walked silently into my camp and plopped down. A moment behind him came this large Baird hunting dog is paused in seeing me, then went to sit beside Kyle.
"Who is your friend?" asked I.
Kyle turned to the big dog and reaching up scrubbed it head making the animal pant and shiver as only a dog can.
"Tilly!" came the reply as hearing it I fell flat on my hairy butt.
Yet another episode and victim of our mutual rank desires which live in all of us. Kyle, medallion in pocket after retrieving it from Mister Shepperly had gone to visit Tilly. His news was as it had come time and time before, not a sign of me did they find.
Tilly burst into tears her two good, good young friends and one of them lost. She cried and as Kyle would be a gentleman did reach into a pocket and offer her a handkerchief. As he gave it to her for consoling the fears she held for me the Medallion rolled out onto the floor. Kyle reached for it but Tilly was quicker. Her tears filling sorry eyes as a hand took hold the Medallion. She not knowing this thing's powers held it and with strange reoccurance rubbed her thumb over the face of it making the powers come to life.
Sobbing she recanted her younger days, a time when hunting dogs were used to find people lost in the wilderness of northern Scotland.
Kyle saw it before the situation occured there before him. Tilly rubbing the silver bobble and its powerful glow getting ever brighter by the minute.
It happened, she bade a wish that she would be the one to find Mark and see him home to family and friends. As like those big hunting dogs of yesteryears gone by she wanted to do something for her two young friends. Kyle saw the beginning of what was to be as her ears changed and nose darkened.
Hours passed and with the powers funneled at Tilly she a true lady became as a mature Baird dog. She knew her young friends but with the degraded size of her head the mind and memories waned. She was like what happened to Cassandra the ewe. They both being of small head, smaller brain, had then the simple memories and patterned thoughts of what they had become.
Getting up the large dog seemed well to know Mark and even though he'd be something she as a Baird dog might chase, she knew him as a friend.
Tilly, Cassandra, and even myself have these comparisons of ourselves with those who as being animals we have known or wanted to know. Those of the animal realm who have abilites we would or could have found useful we often wish to be as they. I was the most like what I became and now know the agony of being a loner and living within the herds.
Loneliness while within numbers of others is for me my personal horror now that I be a satyr. Oh I do long for another but wonder if by my sexual touch if a girl would be as I, or would she become just another nanny?
Kyle and I have seen our lives torn from what was planned to a life made up of raw and rank sensual lusts. As I am reminded of our good friend Tilly my hand touches a goaty cock out erect and rigid. Stroking myself is the final action to the thought of dooming yet another to bestial life.
Melancholy, its what they call it as I sit here thinking over what I was, my future plans, and the life I as both Kyle and myself truly expected to live. A dirty hand strokes a filthy cock as balls ache for sexual release. Our mutual friend now dog sniffs me low and offering an occasion lick makes the satyr in me lust to mount even her. Bathe, I never think of such living day to day in sweat and dust my body stincks like a goat!